


Underneath It All

by interestedbystander



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Fluff, Bucky Barnes-centric, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 17:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11385252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interestedbystander/pseuds/interestedbystander
Summary: You’re benched after returning to the Tower after an arduous mission. Bucky prepares to go to Stark’s benefit on his own, but not before he realises how bad a number has been done on you.---Blame Sebastian Stan for this one and that fucking sinful blue suit he wore at The Skin Cancer Foundation’s ‘Champions for Change’ Gala. Crying tears of blood here at that beauty.





	Underneath It All

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I'd post this here. Usually leave my Tumblr stuff on Tumblr, but this seemed to get a good reception and figured I'm share the fluff! Enjoy xxx

“I’m outta here, dollface. Steve is already bitchin’ I’m late,” Bucky announced, wandering into the living room from the bedroom where he’d been getting ready for the last half hour (yes, super soldiers preen, you could confirm this from the countless hours spent waiting for Bucky or Steve getting ready for a night out), adjusting his cufflinks and smoothing his sleeves down.

Stark was throwing a benefit (you were low on details for whom exactly) with the expectation that all Avengers would be in attendance - it always looked good to see you all well dressed, schmoozing and smiling, unintentionally with your hands out to a cause that would come out better for it at the end of the night.

All were attending. All accept you, you’d just gotten back to the Tower after a particularly heinous mission with Romanoff (with you on the short end of the violence/injury stick).

You had a reasonable excuse to opt out of the evening. Feet, legs and hips ready to give up on you, ice bags were cooling off the ache in your knees and ankle while you read and unwound after a particularly long, lonely shower spent rinsing off blood and counting bruises and grazes. At least you weren’t concussed. There was one upside.

“Have a good night, Buck,” you replied, not looking up from your book.

“I won’t be late,” Bucky replied as he popped his head over the couch and leaned over to kiss you goodnight. “You sure you’ll be okay here?”

“I’ll be fine, thanks all the same,” you mumbled, the question unnecessary as his lips slid over yours for a gentle goodbye.

Opening you eyes, you blinked a few times, bringing him into focus, the familiar feel of stubble on his cheeks gently scratching you, a little longer than he usually allowed. You frowned, sitting up and giving him a proper once over. “No,” you said simply and flipped back down, adjusting the ice against your joints again (although your body was now on fire and the ice would be dribbling water all over the rug in no time if he hung around, looking just like that).

Bucky, suddenly extremely self-conscious, dug his hands in his pockets and shuffled on his feet. “No, what?”

“No, you may not leave the apartment looking like that,” you replied, searching desperately to find where you were in the story, knowing if you gave in and looked up again, you’d end up running to the bedroom and changing to join him (which, no matter how gorgeous he looked tonight, you know wasn’t in your best interest). Or like your previous statement, not let him leave at all (which was always in your best interest, not that you had much strength to make that fantasy a reality currently).

Head to toe, you couldn’t recall a time seeing him look so damn good (although the Winter Soldier get up still made your lady parts flutter in ways you couldn’t describe even if Bucky wasn’t remotely interested in revisiting that point in his life even for the sake of libido, you could appreciate why). Bucky had recently cut his hair again with a slick, modern undercut, he hadn’t shaved like he said he was going to, but the suit. God, you were a sucker for him in a suit. A striking blue cut to him just perfectly, making his stony eyes pop. Crisp white shirt and matching blue tie finished him off. He was absolutely criminal. Unfair.

You tried and failed to ignore the heady scent of his spicy masculine cologne that had now taken over the living room, your mouth dry, palms starting to get clammy. You meekly tried to regulate your pulse, knowing if he felt it, his concern would rise 200%.

Bucky’s head popped back over the couch and hovered over you, forehead creased into a slight frown as his face leered over you. He took the book and moved it away from you at the other end of the couch, minus bookmark. “What’s your problem, sweetheart?”

“I just…” _I’m speechless, you asshole_. He knew how good he looked, he was never shy to admit that James Buchanan Barnes been genetically blessed by the gods. Sure, he had days he refused to run a hand through his hair (not so much a problem now his hair was shorter again), or slouch around in sweats after a partially brutal mission, but when he put his mind to it, he easily looked fresh off the runway at New York Fashion Week. It was infuriating.

“You just what?” he couldn’t contain the wee grin that was crossing his lips.

“You look really handsome and I am very sad that I’m not coming tonight.”

“You can come tonight,” he chuckled quietly. “In fact, I can guarantee it. Repeatedly.”

You groaned, attempting to ignore the rush of heat between your legs. “Go, get out of here. Don’t you have socialites waiting to fawn over you?” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest. You couldn’t stop the wince as your elbow hit a precariously sore spot on your ribs.

In a flash, Bucky was standing over you, gently easing your arms away and raising your (his) oversized t-shirt up and inspecting the injury. “No, that’s why I have you,” he couldn’t resist. “I think I should stay in,” he answered, looking up with solemn eyes. “You need me.”

“I don’t _need_ you,” you scoffed as he sighed and adjusted the ice on your knee again. “I’m not a super soldier. I’ll be okay in a day or so. I’m a real person, who gets injured and bleeds occasionally.”

“Occasionally?” Bucky chuckled quietly. “Baby, if injuries were an art form, you’d have your own exhibit at The Guggenheim.”

“Thanks, Buck,” you sighed as he crouched before you, tending to the ice bags that refused to stay where you needed them, his hair falling into his eyes as he waited over you. You didn’t hesitate easing it back off his handsome features.

“You need me.”

“I’m fine,” you protested, as his knuckles grazed your now bruising cheekbone, eliciting a slight whimper from you as he cringed. “You should go, that suit shouldn’t go to waste.”

“How did you hide all the cuts and scrapes from me?” he murmured to himself, whipping off your thick woolly socks and he pulled your PJ bottoms up to the knees, his cool cybernetic hand tenderly grasping the swelling on your ankle, you sank into the couch in relief. Damn him. “Christ, kid. Look at you. You copped a beatin’.”

“And this is why I’m not going tonight.”

“And this is why I’m not goin’ tonight,” he parroted, pushing himself to his feet and straightening up. He pulled his phone from his pocket, you knew he was calling Steve to let him know he was no-showing and mostly update Cap that you were off the roster indefinitely.

“Hey… she needs me here. Doesn’t think she does, but she looks like she was in a fight with a battering ram and lost. Sorry, pal,” he told Steve as he looked you over, fond smile on his face, listening intently to Steve on the other end of the line. “She’ll live, just needs a few days R&R.”

That suit really would be wasted, you realised. He looked amazing. You did wish you were able to get out for a drink (after your week, it would be a welcome distraction to the ache in your bones) but now that Bucky was onto you, it was hardly worth the effort of trying to get ready. He wouldn’t let you leave his side even if you managed to convince him to let go. You were going as far as where you were currently parked. You had to admit, Nurse Bucky was pretty good at making you forget about your wounds. You doubted he’d continue in that suit though.

“Bye,” Bucky hung up and sighed, loosening his tie and popping the top couple of buttons before taking a seat beside you and grasping you hand, kissing the cut up knuckles. “So, you hungry?”

You shook you head, snuggling into his side and he took the hint and wrapped his arm around you. “Nope.”

“Whatcha need?”

“Just you.”

He stifled a laugh, kicking off his shoes. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry you got dressed up for nothing.”

“It’ll wait to next time… besides, your reaction was enough for me. Don’t think I didn’t notice any of your… physical changes,” he leaned down and carefully kissed your jaw, before sighing and seeing the remnants of fingers of the thug who attempted to choke you out earlier forming a bruise. “Jesus Christ, babydoll, you’re a mess.”

“Yeah, I copped a beating, but you should see the other guys,” you told him as he nodded, with a grin.

“That’s my girl.”

“Intel was shitty at best,” you finally admitted as he slowly took your swollen ankle into his hands, sitting some ice to it and resting it against his thigh to keep elevated, condensation from the plastic bag splashing against the fabric of his suit. “But,” you dared ask. “When you say ‘physical changes’ – ”

“In you?” he bit back a smile. “Pulse rate and body heat… pheromones. All changed when you looked up at me.”

If the couch could have swallowed you whole…You knew you shouldn’t have asked.

“I am mortified,” you replied, deadpanned.

“Don’t be,” he admonished you. “It’s an unfair tell I can gauge from you,” he admitted. “Your pupils dilate, your breathing hitches and the way you rubbed your thighs together. Regardless of everything, it’s still in my job description to read the room,” he said finally laughing as you buried your head into his chest. Mortified wasn’t the word, you decided as he kissed the crown of your head. “If you think for one second I don’t take every reaction as a compliment, you’re kiddin’ yourself. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, don’t ever feel like you have to hide that you want me.”

“How embarrassing,” you moaned, as he smoothed his cool metal hand over your back, carefully snaking it under your t-shirt and fanning out against your bare back, the chill a relief as he landed on a bruise and settled there to help remove the swell.

“Not embarrassing,” he whispered. “Sexy. Reminds me this isn’t all in my head.”

“It’s not,” you looked up at him as he gave you a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah, I know,” he gave you a skilfully placed kiss. “You’re going to bed, settle you in with a glass of wine while I get changed and you can attempt to resist me all night, because you don’t get any of this when you’re hurtin’ the way you are now,” he stood up and offered his warm hand. “Bed, you,” he helped you up and gave you a gentle swat on the ass as you meandered past him. “Be there shortly,” he promised as you disappeared from his gaze.

He sighed. What was he going to do with you?

**Author's Note:**

> [Interested Bystander writes](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/interestedbystanderwrites) on Tumblr.  
> 


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